


Diptych

by Ralkana



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art School, Getting Together, Gift Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-13
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-03-22 16:13:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3735310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ralkana/pseuds/Ralkana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Clint daubed a little more paint near the upper edge of his canvas and stepped back to take a look, swallowing down the urge to laugh hysterically...</em>
</p><p> </p><p>A quick little Art Student AU, for AlyKat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Diptych

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AlyKat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyKat/gifts).



> Disclaimer ~ Not my toys, they're Marvel's.
> 
> For Aly, my favorite graduating art student. Congratulations, hon! I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> A diptych is [A work of art made up of two parts, usually hinged together.](http://www.moma.org/learn/moma_learning/glossary)
> 
> Thanks to orderlychaos, ladytian, and Amy for helping me out with this one! I am not in any way, shape, or form an art student (I can barely draw stick figures), so please forgive me if anything is completely off base!

 

Clint daubed a little more paint near the upper edge of his canvas and stepped back to take a look, swallowing down the urge to laugh hysterically. He had three days to finish this landscape if he wanted to submit it for the senior exhibition, and every time he touched it, he fucked it up even more.

Scowling at the canvas, he resisted the urge to just rip it down and throw it out the window. He didn't think he'd ever had a piece that had fought him so much, from conception to execution.

"It's just a fucking sunset," he muttered in despair. "How hard can it be to paint a sunset?!"

He snatched up his coffee cup, and it was halfway to his mouth when someone grabbed his arm and said, "Whoa, hey, wait!"

"The fuck?" Clint yelped, jumping a mile and whirling in surprise. Liquid sloshed everywhere and Clint barely kept himself from lashing out, his heart jackhammering in his chest.

The person who'd grabbed him was hurriedly backing away, and Clint's breath caught. It was Phil Coulson, because of course it was. Who else would be around to see Clint painting like a four-year-old and acting like an idiot if not the smartest guy in the painting program, the guy Clint had been harboring a mild crush on for four years. Phil was amazingly talented, always neat and organized, never flustered, and incredibly handsome in an old Hollywood, Cary Grant kinda way. Clint had never even gotten up the courage to talk to him.

"Sorry! I'm sorry," Phil was saying in a calm voice, hands up like he was soothing a skittish horse. His beautiful blue eyes were huge behind his glasses, framed as they were by unreasonably long lashes. "I didn't mean to startle you, it's just... that's your paint water."

Clint glanced down at the now-half-full cup in his hand, and further down at the water all over the studio floor. Embarrassment flooded through him; he could feel it burning in his cheeks.

"Well, fuck," he said with a mortified laugh, setting the cup back on the table and dropping his brush into it. He ran his fingers through his hair, wincing as he remembered too late about the paint on his hands. "Thanks, man. Sorry I nearly killed you for stopping me."

Phil shrugged and smiled, the barest upturned tilt to his full lips, and damn, that just wasn't fair. Clint was shit at figure drawing, but he doubted _anyone_ could do justice to the curve of Phil's mouth and his strong jawline.

"It's no problem," Phil said, dropping his gaze in a way that should probably have looked practiced but instead just made him look shy and a little embarrassed. "We've all done it."

Clint tried to imagine Phil drinking his paint water and the choking, gasping, and flailing that inevitably followed, but he just couldn't see it. Phil was always so composed. In class, he wore neatly pressed khakis and collared shirts, and even now in the studio, there was barely a drop of paint on his work clothes. They were well worn and clearly old, but still leagues above Clint's threadbare t-shirt and ripped jeans, which were so covered with paint that he might as well have hugged his canvas.

Phil blinked those big blue eyes at him and Clint abruptly realized he was staring. Tearing his gaze away, he grabbed the _other_ cup on his work table and took a swig, hiding his grimace at the stone cold temperature of the coffee it held.

"Yeah, well," Clint said, gesturing helplessly at his painting with the mug. "I wasn't paying attention because of this... stupid thing... I keep fucking it up."

Phil shifted that serious gaze from Clint to Clint's painting, and no, that was not good, it was bad, it was _terrible_ , the _last_ thing Clint wanted was for Phil to focus on it. His own gaze flew over it, picking out every little flaw and misstep, and he bit his lip, wincing, waiting for Phil to turn back and say, _Fuck, you're right, this is shit. What are you even doing here?_

"I think it's fantastic," Phil said after a moment, and Clint's mouth fell open in shock.

"What? I mean... really? Uh, I mean, thanks!"

"Yeah, I just..." Phil trailed off and shrugged again, and Clint gaped as Phil's cheeks went pink. "I've... I've always admired your use of color."

Wait, Phil had noticed him? Phil had noticed his _work?_ Phil had _admired_ his work? Had Clint fallen into an alternate universe or something?

"I... thank you," he said eventually, clearing his throat when it came out rough.

"You're welcome," Phil murmured. "It's true, though. I mean... your stuff is always so... vibrant and full of life," he said, turning back toward his own canvas. "And mine is always so boring."

Clint studied Phil's work, taking a close look for once, rather than the envious furtive glances he'd always stolen before.

It was an abstract piece, and it was true the colors were muted, but the lines were clear, the composition was perfect, and it held an... energy. Like there were secrets bubbling just under the canvas, like no matter how long Clint stared at it, he'd never really know its true nature or discover all its secrets.

"It's not boring!" he said -- blurted, really. "Your work is never boring. Jeez, I _wish_ I could compose that well. It just... totally draws you in."

And now it was Phil's turn to look like someone had smacked him in the face with a fish, and what? All the instructors and professors in the department were always gushing about Phil's talent, his eye for composition, and his beautiful brushwork. Why would he ever care what perpetual fuckup Clint Barton thought?

But he did, it was clear by the way his blush deepened.

"Thanks," he said quietly, and Clint just shrugged, a little embarrassed by how enthusiastic and defensive he'd sounded. They stared at each other for a few moments, and just when Clint realized he should probably stop it and go back to work, Phil said, "Do you. Um. Do you want to maybe get some pizza or something?"

Clint's stomach growled reflexively, and Phil laughed. He was _gorgeous_ when he laughed, and Clint suddenly wanted to make him do it _all the time_.

"Pizza sounds awesome," Clint said, eager to spend more time with him. Why hadn't he ever talked to Phil before? Phil was amazing. "Do you want to order it, or should I?"

"Oh. Well, I was just getting ready to leave, actually," Phil said, and Clint's heart sank. "But I was thinking we could maybe go out later in the week, or this weekend? For pizza? If you want."

Clint stared at him, trying to figure out how almost drinking his paint water like an idiot had somehow led to _Phil Coulson_ asking him out on a date. If he swallowed half a tube of Cadmium Red, would a winning lottery ticket flutter down out of the sky?

Phil was still waiting, looking adorably nervous, Clint realized.

"Yes! I'd love that. To go out. With you. For pizza. Or whatever. How's Friday? Is Friday good? Friday's good for me. I'll stop talking now."

Phil laughed again, and Clint liked it even more this time, because even if Phil was laughing at him, he was doing it... fondly, and how was that even possible?

"Friday sounds great," Phil said, and they might have grinned stupidly at each other forever if the door hadn't rattled as Felix Blake walked in.

Felix glanced suspiciously between the two of them, and Phil sheepishly ducked his head, flushing. He pointed at his canvas, and Clint nodded and turned back to his own work.

Clint suddenly didn't care how fucked up his stupid sunset was, it was his favorite painting _ever_.

 

**~ ~ ~ ~ ~**

 

Phil used his hands a lot when he talked, Clint noticed, especially when it was something he was really enthusiastic about. He nodded along as Phil continued explaining the brilliant artistic decisions in the latest run of his favorite comic, watching the slice of pizza in Phil's left hand waver dangerously, tip drooping under the weight of the toppings.

This Phil was so different from the restrained, polite, respectful Phil Clint always saw in class. This Phil's eyes sparkled as he gestured emphatically, and Clint found he couldn't look away, even as the slice of pizza on his plate went cold.

Phil broke off as Jasper Sitwell slid into the booth beside him and picked up the last slice of pizza, shoving half of it into his mouth.

"Hey, guys," he said when he swallowed. "What are we doing? Did you finish that paper for Frankel's class? Or are we here avoiding it?"

"Jasper," Phil said politely.

"Yeah?" Jasper asked, taking another bite of his stolen pizza as he glanced at his friend.

"Go away."

Jasper looked hurt for about half a second, and Clint was about to tell him Phil was just joking, when his face cleared and then lit up with wicked humor.

"Oh," he said, laughing. "Oh! This is a date. I interrupted a _date!_ "

"Jasper -- " Phil said threateningly, but he flushed as Clint watched.

"No, no. I'll go. My bad." He slid out of the booth and slapped Phil on the shoulder, still smirking. "'bout time, man. You sure waited long enough. Have fun. Later, Barton."

The silence Jasper left behind was awkward, but only a little. Clint finished his cold slice of pizza, and Phil cleared his throat and looked around the crowded restaurant.

"Well, um, since he ate our last slice of pizza, I guess we should maybe go?"

Clint felt a surge of disappointment. He didn't go on too many dates, it was true, but he'd thought this one had been going well. Was he wrong? Had he been too boring? Okay, he hadn't talked that much, but that's just because everything Phil kept saying was so interesting. Shit. He was boring.

Phil's eyes widened, so maybe he saw Clint's panic.

"Not that I want to, it's just… people are waiting, you know? But this has been really great. Do you… would you maybe want to do it again?"

"Yes," Clint said instantly, and felt like facepalming. _Way to sound desperate, Barton._

But Phil just grinned. "Cool. Can I walk you back to your dorm?"

Clint had never been walked back to his dorm before. Most of his dates ended up in a furtive trip back to his dorm in the middle of the night, alone, but it wasn't like he was going to tell Phil that.

"Sure," he said with a grin, which only grew when Phil slid out of his side of the booth and gestured for Clint to go ahead of him, like the damn gentleman he was.

It was only about a five minute walk, but Clint couldn't stop smiling, especially since Phil walked close enough to him that their shoulders brushed occasionally.

Even at the end of their date, Phil still smelled so good. Clint kind of wanted to bury his face in Phil's neck and just breathe him in.

They stopped at the entrance to Clint's dorm, and Phil turned to face him, catching Clint's hands in his. He looked really nervous.

"So, hey, I'm really glad I almost drank my paint water like a dumbass," Clint said offhandedly, resisting the urge to punch the air triumphantly when it worked to surprise a laugh out of Phil.

He was still laughing when Clint pulled him in for a kiss, but that was okay because Clint was grinning too.

**END**


End file.
